


When Pigs Fly

by foxandbee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chinese Food, Getting Together, Harry and Louis are adorable and disgusting, I Don't Even Know, This Is STUPID, What Possessed Me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxandbee/pseuds/foxandbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Puppy-Boy seems slightly dazed when he drags his eyes back up from Zayn’s lips, a distinctly rosy flush dusting his cheeks, and Zayn worries that maybe he’s suffering from lack of oxygen. And wouldn’t <strong>that</strong> just be the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week? Zayn can see the headlines now, <strong>Misanthropic Student kills innocent Puppy-Human in broad daylight over Wonton Soup.</strong></em>
</p><p>Zayn is tired and he never smiles and then he finds what he didn't know he was looking for right when he least expects it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Pigs Fly

Zayn is tired. He’s just tired. He’s tired of waking up every morning with a sore back because his bed is shit. He’s tired of catching the same train every day, and sitting in the same seat and seeing the same stops pass him by. He’s tired of dragging his feet into the same lecture theatres and listening to the same boring people drone on at him. He’s tired of the same flatmates that he’s had for two years, who still treat him as if he isn’t even there. Zayn is just _really fucking tired_ and all he wants is to go back to his flat and be ignored by his flatmates and fall onto his shit bed and just never wake up again.

But then it starts raining Mu Shu Pork.

“The fuck?” Zayn exclaims, or tries to exclaim, but it just barely comes out as a sigh. He’s too tired to use his shocked voice.

“Oh god, oh shit, I am so _so_ sorry! Oh my god. Here let me help you.” And then someone is swiping at his brand new leather jacket, trying to clean him up but only smearing the sauce further into the seams. But hey, he hadn’t saved up for months for this jacket, not at all.

“Did you just – Did you just pour Chinese on me?”

Zayn doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be angry. He’s otherwise occupied just trying to wrap his head around the situation. He was just minding his own business, walking from campus back to the train station after a particularly depressing day, and then he was assaulted with oriental food.

The take-away assailant stops pawing at Zayn’s chest and takes a step back. It’s either a boy or a puppy, Zayn can’t entirely tell, but then he remembers that dogs can’t talk so yeah, it’s a boy. A boy that looks startlingly like a puppy.

“I’m sorry, so sorry. I was just coming out of the shop and I was trying to slide the door closed behind me but I had too much in my hands and then all of it was flying out of my hands and then it was landing on you and I’m really really sorry.”

It’s the eyes, Zayn reckons. This boy has deep brown eyes and they’re as big as saucers and they’re shining suspiciously as if he’s about to start crying over spilt soy sauce.

Really, if anyone has the right to start crying right now, it’s Zayn. But he can’t imagine anything worse than standing in the middle of the street during rush hour, being shoved to and fro by power-walking businessmen, covered in a miscellaneous array of meat and vegetables, and crying. Zayn is the first to admit that when it comes down to it, he’s kind of pathetic. But he is not yet so pathetic that he’s taken to crying in public. Although, there is a first time for everything.

“Oh god, no, please don’t start crying.” Puppy-Boy starts flapping his hands about, as if trying to prevent the water from leaving Zayn’s tear ducts with the sheer force of wind.

“I wasn’t going to start crying,” Zayn grumbles, swiping roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You got vinegar in my eye.”

Either Puppy-Boy is that gullible or he’s kind enough to go along with it, because his eyebrows scrunch up in concern and he starts digging around in his pocket for something.

“Here,” he says, passing Zayn a blue handkerchief with the initials LJP monogrammed in the corner.

Zayn just stares at it. He didn’t know handkerchiefs still even existed.

“Is – Is there something wrong? Is there a stain or something? I swear it’s clean.”

Zayn tears his eyes away from the material and up to Puppy-Boy’s face and he looks completely serious. In fact, he looks almost worried, as though his handkerchief won’t be up to Zayn’s handkerchief standards.

“You just dumped Chinese food on my head and now you’re offering me a _monogrammed handkerchief?_ This is actually happening right now?”

“Um – Yes?” Puppy-Boy eyes Zayn warily.

“Okay, just checking.”

The slightest of smiles creeps up onto Puppy-Boy’s lips as he watches Zayn try and clean off his face.

“Crap day?”

“The crappiest,” Zayn chuckles humorlessly.

“And I’ve just gone and made it worse. I really am so sorry.” Puppy-Boy starts frowning again and Zayn doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that one bit. A frown looks all wrong on this boy’s face, like his muscles were designed only for smiles and they don’t work properly in reverse.

“It’s alright. Really. It was an accident, no hard feelings.” Zayn tries to smile reassuringly at the boy but it feels all wrong too. Like his face was also constructed in a specific way and the muscles in his cheeks have been trained to pull down, not up.

“Well do you at least live close by?”

Zayn thinks about his forty minute journey home to the rundown flat in the cheapest part of town, which was all he could afford, and mentally curses. Zayn’s always hated those people on public transport who smell weird. Now it’s his turn to be that guy in the corner who everyone avoids sitting next to.

“Um, not really, no. It’s a bit of a trek if I’m honest,” Zayn sighs, while rubbing at his forehead. He just prays he doesn’t attract any stray cats along the way. If today’s the day Zayn turns into the weird smelling freak who talks to street animals, he’s going to go home and drown himself in the bathtub.

“Oh. Erm, is your notebook paper always orange?”

Huh? Zayn was not expecting the boy to go off on that tangent. But then again, he wasn’t expecting flying pork. Then Zayn feels hysterical laughter bubbling up from his belly and before he can put a lid on it, it’s spilling out and he’s doubled over, gasping about “when pigs fly” in between giggles. Is public hysteria better or worse than public crying?

Luckily Zayn isn’t alone in his minor mental breakdown because Puppy-Boy starts chuckling too, and then he’s snorting, and then he’s laughing with these full body guffaws, his eyes almost disappearing into his face and his hands braced against his knees, trying to keep himself upright.

Once people start walking in the gutter in order to avoid them Zayn thinks it might be time to calm down. He pulls himself together with a couple of deep breaths and then answers Puppy-Boy’s question with a sigh. He’d just finished a new story today too.

“No, my notebook’s not normally orange. I think that’s sauce.” He swipes a bit off with the tip of his finger and then sucks it into his mouth. “Sweet and sour.”

Puppy-Boy seems slightly dazed when he drags his eyes back up from Zayn’s lips, a distinctly rosy flush dusting his cheeks, and Zayn worries that maybe he’s suffering from lack of oxygen. And wouldn’t _that_ just be the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week? Zayn can see the headlines now, _Misanthropic Student kills innocent Puppy-Human in broad daylight over Wonton Soup._

However, he’s pulled out of his thoughts of imagining his flatmate Twathead Tom giving an emphatic television interview, _“I was the only one to see him for what he was…a freak!”_ , by Puppy-Boy clearing his throat. Zayn wonders exactly how long he zoned out for. He really does spend too much time alone.

“Um, well, I uh, I mean we, like I have flatmates, and we live just round the corner?” Zayn’s confused, does Puppy-Boy not know where he lives?

“Er, is that a question? Or…” Zayn goes to scratch at the back of his head and finds chicken lodged in the short hairs there. Lovely.

“Yes. I mean, no! That’s not the question. What I’m trying to say is, I live just around the corner and I’m asking if you want to come home with me. Oh god! Shit, no, what I mean is –” As Puppy-Boy looks wildly around for something to save him, perhaps hoping that the nearest lamppost will animate itself and come over to clobber him, Zayn feels immensely relieved. Maybe he’s no longer the most awkward person he knows. “Basically, would you like to come to mine and get cleaned up a bit before you head home?” Puppy-Boy finishes his distraught ramblings and stares hard at the limp noodles on Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn considers his options. He could a) refuse this kind boy’s offer and make his way home on public transport, smelling strongly of coriander, and with poultry in his hair; b) go with this complete stranger to his apartment and run the risk of being chopped into tiny pieces and fed to a pit bull terrier; or c) continue to stand here in the street making mental, alphabetically categorised lists like the utter nerd he is while a labradoodle/human cross looks on nervously.

Zayn grins at the boy, really grins, that big goofy smile with his tongue pushing against his teeth and his nose all crinkled up. That grin that makes him look like a two year old. Puppy-Boy grins back just as hard, and he looks about three, so Zayn figures he’s okay.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

It’s only after they’ve started walking that Zayn thinks to introduce himself.

“ ‘M name’s Zayn, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, shit, sorry. I’m Liam. Lovely to meet you. Sorry about the Chinese.”

Liam looks over at him with wide, earnest eyes and sticks out his hand. Zayn silently mourns the loss of Puppy-Boy in his mind, but then Liam’s warm, broad hand wraps around Zayn’s skinnier one and he thinks Liam is okay too. Liam is a nice name, sturdy.

Liam leads them around the corner and halfway down the side street, turning to walk up the path of an old, red brick apartment block. Just as he’s searching his pockets for his keys, the late afternoon sun breaks from behind the cloud bank and illuminates Liam’s face. And _damn_. Caught up in the cultural theme of the evening, Zayn thanks every single one of his ancestors. If he had a dragon sidekick and a lucky cricket he’d thank them as well. Because if someone really had to go and spill their dinner all over him, Zayn’s eternally grateful that it was an insanely attractive someone.

Of course, Zayn saw Liam’s face before, but not like this. Not with the way the deep sunset is casting an almost-red glow across his features, making his lips pinker, his teeth whiter, his skin tan and smooth and soft looking. Not with how the light catches in his eyes and seems to bounce back, highlighting gold flecks and making his irises shimmer. Not with how this boy is being lit up with a veritable halo. Zayn can almost hear the choirs of heavenly angels singing on high.

No, wait, he actually _can_ hear a choir signing. And so Zayn starts silently panicking because he’s definitely finally cracked it. Liam provided the spring onion that broke the camel’s back.

Zayn must be making some kind of face because Liam takes one look back at him as he’s pushing through the door and says, “Yeah, Mrs. Maker in 1B goes a bit overboard with the Christmas carolling. Gets her group rehearsing at the first sign of a Halloween pumpkin. Lou’s practically homicidal by the time December rolls around. And it never really helps that Harry’s actually in the group.”

Once again Zayn thanks his ancestors, his dragon and his lucky cricket. Then he remembers that he has neither a dragon nor a lucky cricket and decides that maybe he’s not quite out of the insanity-woods yet.

Zayn follows Liam up four flights of stairs to the top floor of the building and tries his level best not to fall back down again when he reaches the landing. The whole way up he has an internal debate about which would be worse: crying whilst covered in Chinese food, being hysterical whilst covered in Chinese food, or having a heart attack whilst covered in Chinese food. Zayn decides that he’s already done one of those this evening and he’s not willing to embarrass himself any further.

When they reach the door to 4C Zayn’s trying to cover up his panting while Liam’s still smiling amiably. _God_ , this kid probably has an amazing body too.

Liam opens the door and is instantly greeted with, “Leeeeyuuuum, bring me my Chinese in bed!”

And of course, _of course_ , this perfection personified already has a boyfriend. In what universe wouldn’t he? Now Zayn just feels stupid whilst covered in Chinese food.

Liam flings his keys into a ceramic dish on a side table in the hall, a ceramic dish that Zayn assumes to be a cat, or at least an attempt at a cat. The probable-cat-like-thing-shaped-bowl also appears to have a massive penis with a neon green sticky-note attached that reads “suck me.” Zayn would question it but he has no room to judge, he has honey-soy sauce seeping into his boxers.

He tails Liam into the kitchen where the latter seems to be bracing himself against the countertop.

“Uh yeah, Ni, about the Chinese food…” Liam trails off as a bang reverberates from somewhere further in the apartment.

“Liam James Payne, don’t you dare tell me you came back here without my Mu Shu Pork!”

Liam moves over to the fridge and opens it up, offering Zayn a beer with a silent gesture of his head. Zayn nods vigorously in response, he has a feeling he might need the alcohol.

“It’s not that I don’t have it, per se, it’s just that it might be kind of difficult to eat now.”

Thundering footfalls advance down the hallway and Zayn is highly underprepared for the skinny blonde who bursts dramatically into the kitchen. He wasn’t expecting that amount of noise to come from such a little person.

The blonde takes one look at the shocked expression on Zayn’s face, probably made exponentially more hilarious by the green pepper Zayn’s just realised is stuck to the side of his neck, and collapses face first onto the kitchen table cackling.

And Zayn can see, he can so _clearly_ see, why Liam is with this guy. This guy is adorable and ethereal and beautiful, what with his pale skin and blue eyes and sunshine smile.

It’s a long time before the blonde manages to regain control of his cognitive functions, a time that Liam spends smiling at him with fond exasperation and Zayn spends dripping onto the tiles.

“Oh my god, Li, what did you _do?_ ” the blonde gasps.

“Zayn, this bottomless Irish pit is Niall. Niall, meet Zayn, a completely innocent bystander who I accidentally threw our dinner at.”

Niall stands up again and goes to hug Zayn, but pulls back at the last second, offering up his hand instead.

“I’d hug ya mate, but, well, ya know,” Niall says, while gesturing vaguely at Zayn’s entire person.

Honestly, Zayn’s a bit relieved. Believe it or not, he’s not that fond of physical contact, especially with near complete strangers.

“ ‘s alright, I am very aware that I’m wearing your Mu Shu Pork. Sorry ‘bout that,” Zayn says ruefully.

“No worries man, happens all the time.” He pauses. “Well that’s an utter lie, but it’s cool. Maybe I’ll just have to lick it all off ya instead.” Niall then flicks a very deliberate gaze up and down Zayn’s body with a devilish twinkle in his eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips.

The atmosphere shifts and Zayn feels Liam tense beside him, but before another word can be said a different voice is ringing through the apartment.

“Is that Liam? I swear to _God_ , Li, if they don’t shut up with the fucking Christmas carols I’m gonna go down there and rip their little drummer boy a new one. For fuck’s sake, it’s still the fucking first week of Nov-”

The voice cuts off when another boy enters the kitchen. This one is short and curvy and dressed in sinfully tight red jeans and _Jesus_ , is everyone who lives here a model? Because this one looks, seriously, straight out of Paris, with his tousled hair and his sharp cheekbones and his _bum_. Zayn tries his best to remain stoic and not notice this boy’s bum, not when he’s covered in Chinese.

“Um, Li, what’s with the stray?”

“ _Louis_ , play nice,” Liam says through his teeth. “Louis, this is Zayn. Zayn, this is Louis. He enjoys swearing and dressing like a sailor.”

“Can’t say that’s not true,” Louis replies with a wicked little grin in Zayn’s direction. “So, what happened to you, Eyelashes?”

“Um…” Zayn’s struggling to find his bearings with so much sheer _pretty_ in the room.

And then the front door is slamming and yet another disembodied voice is wafting through the apartment, this one slow and deep and drawling. “Who stuck another rude sign to Pickles?”

“Honestly, Haz, what do you expect from me when you sculpt a cat with a penis?” Louis yells back down the hall.

“ _Lou_ ,” the voice whines in its deep baritone, “how many times do I have to tell you, it’s his _tail_.”

“Trust me, babe, I’m kind of an expert on these things. I have enough experience to know a penis when I see one.”

“Heeeyyy.”

In walks what Zayn can only describe as an overgrown child. He’s all long, gangly limbs and pigeon toed feet and an expression like a toddler who’s been woken early from nap time, pouty lips and all.

“But yours is my favourite penis, best I’ve ever had.”

“Better.” And with that Baby Jagger pounces on Louis.

And _wow_ , the following display is something Zayn would definitely spend his time watching on the internet. But no, Zayn refuses to get hard while covered in Chinese, so he adverts his eyes.

Thankfully Liam seems to sense his discomfort and he breaks the two apart with a pointed cough. “Uh, guys, we have company.”

“Oh!” The newest addition separates himself from Louis’ face with a kind of gross sounding slurp and a massive dimpled smile. “Hi! ‘m Harry.”

Zayn isn’t particularly inclined to shake the hand Harry offers him, not when he’s pretty sure he just saw it disappearing down the back of Louis’ jeans, so he gives Harry half a crooked smile and a little wave. “Zayn.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zayn.” And Harry seems very genuinely pleased indeed. His green eyes twinkle and his puffy pink lips pull up to frame his perfectly straight teeth and even his bloody curls just radiate sheer joy. Zayn can’t take much more of this.

“So, Li, you were just about to explain what’s going on,” Louis pipes up from under Harry’s arm and Zayn is so grateful for the distraction. This whole ordeal is beginning to overwhelm him. For all his life he’s been the quiet, geeky, arty kid. No one ever really noticed him unless it was to take the piss. So this much attention, this much sincerity, this much _smiling_ is something Zayn is struggling to cope with.

“Oh yeah, well, I was trying to get out the door of Lee Central’s with mass quantities of Asian cuisine,” he shoots a look at Niall who only shrugs in return, “when I lost my balance and ended up chucking it all over poor Zayn here. And he didn’t even yell at me or anything, I think he was in a little bit of shock for a while. So I offered to let him come clean up here before he heads home. Honestly, it’s the least I could do, I’ve pretty much ruined everything he’s wearing.”

Zayn can feel four pairs of eyes boring into him and the blood is rushing from his extremities to his face. So Zayn stares resolutely at the floor, watching the little puddle of mixing brown his dripping has created.

“Well! That’ll be one to tell your grandkids,” Louis says, clapping his little hands together and Zayn chokes on air.

“Alright Lou, I think Zayn’s probably experienced enough trauma for one day,” Harry says kindly and sends Zayn a little wink. “Zayn, mate, why don’t you go hop in the shower? I’m sure Liam can lend you some clothes.”

“Yeah!” Liam agrees and sets his beer down, pushing away from the counter he was leaning on. “Just follow me.”

Zayn puts his bottle on the side of the sink next to Liam’s and shuffles out of the kitchen after him, sending a little wave to the remaining boys. He follows Liam down the hallway, getting the grand tour as he goes. Liam points out his, Niall’s and Harry and Louis’ rooms and finally the bathroom at the very end, grabbing a towel for Zayn from the hall closet in passing.

“So the hot water’s just a little bit temperamental, old building and all, so give it a minute or two to heat up properly before you jump in,” Liam explains, pulling back the shower curtain and turning the water on. “Use any soap and shampoo you want, we’re not really fussed about that kind of thing. The women’s shampoo belongs to Louis, although he’ll try to tell you it’s Harry’s. But it isn’t, we all know it, that boy’s hair is unnaturally shiny.”

Liam turns and smiles all crinkly eyed at Zayn. “Take as long as you want and just give us a shout if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Zayn murmurs.

“It’s nothing, really.” Liam leaves, closing the door softly behind him with one last smile for Zayn.

Zayn looks around the bathroom and it’s very obviously student inhabited. There are half empty bottles and hair products strewn everywhere, and a random pair of pants lying under the sink. But it’s clean, which is more than Zayn can say for the bathroom in his flat, and it looks homey. The toilet and fixtures are a pale pink ceramic and the shower curtain is cat themed. Zayn catches his small smile in the half-fogged mirror and decides that it’s very strange to be standing in a strangers bathroom smiling like a loon. So he turns away and starts stripping.

He toes out of his Docs, pulls off his socks and slides his ripped skinny jeans down his skinnier legs. Zayn's always hated his knobby knees, so he tries not to look at them and straightens back up. It’s as he’s peeling his t-shirt off his torso, just after it’s covered his face, that Zayn hears the door open. He tugs the material the rest of the way over his head and looks up to find Liam frozen in the doorway. He’s just standing there, wide eyed, unmoving, until he squeaks. And maybe there’s too much steam enveloping the room but Zayn could swear he heard “tattoos.”

“Um…is – what – can I help you with something?” Zayn’s not entirely sure what to do here, this has never happened to him before.

Liam snaps out of his trance, looking up to Zayn’s eyes and then hastily looking away again as he steadily turns redder and redder. “I – you might need – clothes and – bye.” He lobs the fresh clothes he was clutching at the closed toilet seat and then runs from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Zayn is mortified. But probably not half as mortified as Liam right now, not after walking in while the guy he spent the evening throwing food at was half naked. So Zayn tries his best to forget it ever happened and steps under the shower spray.

And he has never in his life appreciated water as much as he does in this moment. It’s the perfect pressure and the perfect temperature and Zayn really wouldn’t mind spending a lot more of his time in this shower. Which is a very strange thought to be thinking, so he concentrates on picking out a shampoo. In the end Zayn just chooses the shampoo that’s the least empty. When he squirts some into his hand he finds that it smells like vanilla and musk and _boy_ and he really, really likes it.

Zayn scrubs away all the meat and sauce and unidentified vegetables as fast as he can and then towels off while still standing in the tub, trying to limit the splash-zone to as small an area as possible. When he gets out he takes a closer look at the clothes Liam left for him; loose grey track pants and a Batman t-shirt. The trackies are soft and fleecy against his legs and the t-shirt looks worn and loved, like maybe it’s Liam’s favourite. And then Zayn’s all wrapped up in a foreign scent that is fresh and clean and far more comforting than Zayn’s own smell of spice and smoke.

Zayn’s brain helpfully reminds him that the guy whose clothes he is currently sniffing (like a perv) already has a boyfriend. _Get a fucking grip, idiot._

Zayn washes any remaining residue down the drain, hangs up his towel, and generally tries to make the bathroom look as if he was never there in the first place. Then he gathers up his dirty clothes and pads softly back down the hallway towards the kitchen. He stops just short of the doorway when he hears a hushed conversation going on inside. The voices don’t stop, they didn’t hear him coming, because Zayn’s too used to moving through his own flat like a ghost, never making a sound.

“Trust you, Liam Payne, to dump your fucking dinner on a fucking Gucci model!”

“I’m pretty sure he’s just a regular student like us, Lou.”

“No, Liam Payne, that boy is _not_ a regular student. Did you see his eyelashes? He nearly fucking _killed_ me when he blinked!”

“Why do you keep calling me Liam Payne?”

“Um, is that not your name, Liam Payne?”

“Yeah, obviously, but like, why the whole thing?”

“Because it adds drama Liam! And I need to be fucking dramatic about the _gorgeous_ God of a man you threw Chinese all over!”

_“Heeeyyy!”_

“You’ll always have the prettiest dick, baby.”

“Good. Now come here.”

“Ewww, guys, come on, I’m right here.”

“Sorry Li.”

“I have not one iota of remorse in my being.”

Snort.

“Of course you don’t Lou.”

“Anyway, back to your Burberry model.”

“I thought you said Gucci?”

“Whatever, semantics, the point is he’s _divine_.”

“You should see him when he smiles properly, I nearly fell over.”

“What did you do when you saw him naked?”

There’s a slightly strangled noise followed by a few sharp slapping sounds.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Haz.” Liam sounds out of breath.

“I’m talking about when you came stumbling back down the hallway, face as red as Louis’ arse, and dived head first into the couch.”

“Also, you squealed into a pillow like a little bitch.”

“He was still in his boxers,” comes the mumbled reply.

“Alright mate?”

Zayn jumps straight out of his skin and very nearly also squeals like a bitch when Niall pops up behind him. The sound of three chairs scraping over tile fills the kitchen and then Zayn’s surrounded. Everyone knows he’s just been caught red handed and Zayn feels like the biggest prick in London, standing barefoot in the hallway in a too big t-shirt clutching his take-away ruined clothes to his chest.

Harry eventually takes pity on him. “So we ordered pizza. Figured it best if someone else was responsible for getting our dinner to our door.”

“Oh, um, yeah that’s – I’ll just get going then, shall I?” Zayn feels stupid and unwelcome and too hot, but mainly stupid.

Niall elbows Liam in the gut, and when Liam’s too busy staring at the ceiling to react, he jumps into the awkward silence. “You should stay. We ordered enough for five and we were gonna watch a movie. Besides, Harry’s gonna run ya clothes through the wash.” Now Niall elbows Harry.

“Precisely! That I was!”

“Oh, um, thanks, that’s really nice, but it’s really not necessary, I can –”

“Nonsense!” Louis steps in and forcibly removes Zayn’s clothes from his claw-like hands. “Niall, be a darling and escort our guest through to the parlor.”

“Um, what? Are you okay Lou?”

“The living room, asshat! The place where the TV is!”

“Oh! Right! If you’ll follow me, good sir.” And Niall holds out his arm, crooked at the elbow, for Zayn to take.

Zayn has no idea what’s going on and he’s powerless to stop it.

As he lets himself be tugged away by Niall, who’s blathering excitedly about which toppings he ordered on his pizza, Zayn hears Harry whisper “He used your shampoo, Li.”

“So, Zayn, how do you feel about the Avengers?”

He turns to Niall and raises an eyebrow. “How long have you got?”

“God help me, you’re so perfect for each other.”

***

After the pizzas arrive and all five boys are sprawled around the living room watching Iron Man bicker with _everyone_ , Zayn finally lets himself relax in increments. It’s mainly kick-started when Louis announces that “if you stare longingly at that fucking pizza one more time, Zayn, I swear I will haul my ass over to you and stuff it down your goddamn throat. Seriously, just eat as much as you want, _Jesus_.”

When Harry chips in that “it’s probably best you do what he says mate, Lou likes watching pretty boys choke on things” Zayn grabs a slice and shoves the whole thing into his mouth out of pure terror.

With Harry and Louis curled up in the loveseat, Zayn is left stuck between Liam and Niall on the couch. Zayn tried to say that Niall could sit in the middle but then Niall started hollering about how “that’s not the craic” and Zayn was too baffled to argue the point.

Half an hour in, when Niall leans over to load his plate up with another four slices, he settles back into the couch much closer to Zayn than before and Zayn is forced to shuffle along unless he wants to be repeatedly elbowed in the neck as Niall scarfs down his seconds.

Another twenty minutes later and Niall is turning to lean his back against the armrest, propping his legs up on the cushion beside him. Zayn slides another few inches along.

Zayn has to move again, literally _has to_ , before he suffocates with Niall’s feet too close to his head where they’re kicked up onto the back of the couch. But then he can’t move any further because Liam is _right there_. They’re sitting so close that Zayn can feel Liam’s body heat warming up his borrowed track pants. Then when Coulson dies Liam shifts and splays his legs out wider, so his firm thigh is pressed right up against Zayn’s, and Zayn’s breath hitches though he valiantly pretends that it doesn’t.

Ever so slowly, Liam’s arm comes to rest alongside Zayn’s and then he carefully links their pinky fingers together. And Zayn freezes. He stays frozen for the rest of the movie because him and Liam are practically holding hands with Liam’s boyfriend not _a metre_ away. Zayn has no idea what to do. Does he say something? But then that would draw attention to it and Zayn really doesn’t feel like getting beaten up tonight. Does he move his hand away? But Zayn kind of doesn’t want to. Zayn kind of likes practically holding Liam’s hand. Does he make a move on Liam? _No you fucking idiot! Boyfriend. Right. There._

Zayn ends up completely blanking the rest of the movie as his sense of self-preservation, his conscience and his dick fight a raging war.

It’s only when the end credits are rolling, and Louis stands up to stretch and yawn obnoxiously, that Zayn snaps back to reality and realises that it’s already gone midnight and he’s missed the last train. _Shit._

“Well would you look at that! It’s gone midnight Zayn, I think you’ve missed the last train.”

If Zayn wasn’t a guest in Louis’ home he’d punch the twat.

“Yeah, um, I’m really sorry about that. Do you guys have the number for a cab company?” Zayn won’t be eating for the next week but it’s the only option he’s got. At least he stuffed himself full of pizza tonight. Hopefully that’ll keep him going for a while.

“What? What for?” Harry looks genuinely bewildered by the question and Zayn’s beginning to wonder about him.

“Um, so I can call for a taxi home?”

“There’s no need for that. You can just stay here the night.” Louis is now bouncing on his toes and he looks simultaneously six years old and pure evil.

“That’s, uh, that’s really generous of you to offer, but, um, I mean thank you, but I don’t mind, I think I’ve probably outstayed my welcome as it is and –”

“Mate, we’re not kicking you out after midnight. I know we live with Louis but we’re not all total arseholes.” Niall’s sentence is punctuated with an indignant _Oi!_ “You’re sleeping here tonight and that’s final. I’ll go get you a blanket.” And with that Niall flounces out of the room, all prim and proper, as if he hadn’t spent the past two and a half hours trying to belch the alphabet in between action scenes.

“You’re not gonna regret sticking around when you eat Harry’s breakfast in the morning, mate. It’s like a buttery orgasm.” And while Zayn thinks despondently that he’s just been turned off butter for life, Harry preens under the attention.

“Thank you, Boobear.” Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ neck.

Louis turns around and slaps at Harry’s chest. “Harold! How many times have I told you? Not in front of the others!”

“Only in bed, right, got it Boo.”

Louis jumps at Harry to launch a full tactical assault but Harry merely wraps his monkey arms around Louis and lifts him up until his toes no longer touch the floor.

“Goodnight you two,” Harry smiles and then carries Louis off down the hallway.

“Sleep tight, Zaynie Poo!” Louis calls back over Harry’s shoulder.

Which leaves Zayn and Liam standing alone and somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“Listen, Zayn, if you really want to go home I don’t mind driving you there.” And looking at Liam, Zayn knows he’s telling the truth, knows he really wouldn’t mind at all.

But then Zayn thinks about what’s waiting for him back at his apartment, a shitty bed and not much else, and compares it to here, where there’s the prospect of a cooked breakfast and people who might not ignore him in the morning. There’s no comparison really.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind staying, if you guys want me here that is.”

“I want you here.” Liam reaches out for Zayn’s hand again and Zayn clams up again.

Liam notices and withdraws his hand slowly, like he doesn’t want to spook Zayn.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have just assumed you’re like the rest of us.”

What? “What? What does that mean? Like the rest of you?”

Liam looks up with incredulous eyes like Zayn’s 32 and still believes in Santa.

“We’re gay, Zayn.”

“Yeah. I know. Harry and Louis basically banged in the kitchen. And I’m gay too.”

Then realisation dawns in those big eyes and Liam snaps his gaze back to the floor. “Right. Well. Yes. No. I shouldn’t have assumed you were interested.”

For what feels like the hundredth time today Zayn feels so ridiculously lost.

“What? It’s not that I’m not interested, because I – I mean, your boyfriend was sitting right there, Liam!”

“ _What?_ My boyfriend? What boyfriend?”

“Isn’t Niall –”

“ _Sweet Jesus_ , no!” Niall runs into the living room and flings two pillows and a comforter at Zayn. “Oh my god, why would you even _think_ that?” Niall runs back out of the living room and goes screaming down the hallway. “Harry! Louis! Please don’t be fucking! I have something equally hilarious and disturbing to share!”

Liam’s left standing in Niall’s dust trying to smother his laughter.

“Seriously though, why _would_ you think that?”

“Well, because – because he asked you to bring him the Chinese in bed and then you were looking at him all fondly and I just – I don’t know.” God, Zayn is _such_ an idiot. At least he’s no longer covered in Chinese.

“I mean, I love Niall, he’s my best mate, but no, just – no. And anyway, didn’t you see me practically faint when I walked in on you in the bathroom?”

“I also heard that you screamed into a pillow like a thirteen year old girl,” Zayn says with a cheeky smile.

“Oh god,” Liam groans. “That’s not what really –” But the rest of Liam’s sentence is muffled by Zayn’s mouth.

***

Zayn goes to sleep that night thinking that he might just have to rearrange his face. Because he’s smiled more in the past 8 hours than he has in the last 3 months. And when he wakes up in the morning to Harry crushing his legs and Louis yelling in his face, he’s never felt better rested or less tired.

His back still hurts, because he did sleep on the couch, but Liam makes up for it by taking him out for Mu Shu Pork.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what this is to be honest.  
> Inspired by real life events.  
> And by that I mean I watched Mulan and then spilt Chinese on myself and wished it had led to the discovery of my dream man and not just the ruination of my favourite top.  
> Thanks for reading! xxx


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